“Not a problem,” he replied, gently squeezing Miki’s waist. “Let’s get you home. Sanchez and I will figure it out. He’s a good guy… a good cop. Almost as good as me.”
“Yeah, you guys better be,” Miki grumbled with a soft purr. “I want this shit to go away.”
“Do I have to go away when the shit goes too?” Kane prodded as they walked.
“No,” Miki mumbled, ducking his head. “Maybe you can stay. Even if you’re a cop, you’re okay. Especially if you’re buying me ice cream.”
SANCHEZ was waiting for him in an unmarked when Kane got back to the station an hour later. He slid into the sedan and passed Sanchez one of the two Mexican mochas he’d grabbed on the way. The smell of the coffee did little to mask the sour smell of vomit coming from the backseat, and Kel hit the button to raise the bullet-proof partition, hoping it would help.
It didn’t.
“Don’t look at me,” Kel warned Kane off before he could say something. “This was all they had.”
“God, I hate the motor pool,” Kane muttered. “Why do they have to punish me because they can’t stand you?”
“The dog shit wasn’t my fault,” Sanchez protested as he pulled into traffic. “I was doing the old lady a solid. It was pouring out, and she had five fucking poodles. How was I supposed to know they all had the runs?”
“I hate your guts right now.” He shook his head and reached for the touchscreen tablet on the seat between them. “Roll down the back windows. Maybe that’ll help some.”
Sanchez turned the heat on and lowered the back windows. The rattling wheeze from the air vents wasn’t promising, and when the lukewarm air finally hit them, it reeked of motor oil and cat pee. Resigned to being a victim of Kel’s ongoing feud with the department’s motor pool, he turned on the tablet and hooked it into the car’s network system.
“You didn’t tell me no one’s seen Vega in three days,” Kane said accusingly. “When’d you find that out?”
“Like an hour and a half ago,” Sanchez shot back. “You were busy cuddling your rock star and ferrying him home. I stayed back, remember? Working on this shit. He was supposed to go camping with some of his buddies, but he never showed up. They figured he flaked, so they didn’t call it in. I guess at some point someone realized he’d left home but never showed up at the campsite, so someone notified us.”
“He could have been grabbed before Shing, then,” Kane murmured, sweeping through the reports on the screen. “We don’t have time of death on Shing yet. The family wasn’t sure about the last time he was seen. He wasn’t working the restaurant as much. Bradley pretty much has taken that over.”
“Our boy Bradley, who’s cooling his heels in lockup right now,” Kel responded. “He’s none too happy about that. We’ve got enough to pop a warrant on the house too. Martinez and Lau are going to shake that down, but I don’t know how much they’ll find. I’m guessing old man Shing only used that upstairs room for his fucking sick games. Too many people at home, unless they turned a blind eye to it.”
“Sounds like Vega’s wife did.” He stopped at a screen and maximized the text. “The uniform who responded to the call said she was out of it when he got there. One of Vega’s coworkers… um… one Daniel Bassor, was there to answer questions. Valens, the uniform, said the wife wasn’t fully there. He was going to call in a medical, but Bassor responded that Cynthia… Mrs. Vega… has behavioral issues and is usually drugged up to the gills.”
“Is that a technical term?” Kel asked caustically.
“Must be.” Kane grinned. “That’s how it was written in the report. Very professional, our boy Valens. No listing of Cynthia’s medications. That would have been helpful. We could have chased down her doctor and seen if there’s any evidence of physical violence.”
“Surprised they let them foster kids if she’s like that. Any domestics called to the home?”
“Her medical issues apparently escalated.” Kane skimmed through an amended attachment. “Some domestics were called in over the last six years, all on her. Vega declined their foster parent status eight years ago, stating his wife’s mental issues and increase of his workload at his law firm.”
“So she’s crazy?” Kel whistled under his breath.
“Not everyone with issues is crazy. My brother Quinn’s wired a bit funny, and he’s done just fine,” Kane pointed out. “I don’t see you teaching college history.”
“Your brother’s hot. That goes a long way.” Sanchez winced at the look Kane threw him. “Hey, just stating the obvious.”
“Q’s worked hard to get where he is,” he said, going through the rest of the reports to hunt for more information. “Don’t know if being hot’s helped him any.”